


Cut Me Open (and use me)

by triggerlil



Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 15th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom Draco Malfoy, Hate Sex, Homoerotic Dueling, Knife Play, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor degradation/humiliation, Pain, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Prince Draco Malfoy, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26978395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/pseuds/triggerlil
Summary: Draco is the heir to the throne of England. Harry is a nobleman who wants to reclaim his honour. Somehow, these two things are intimately linked. Enter a sword, a dagger, and the hands of God, and you have a story about two men with tongues like knives, learning to lick love off sharp edges.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950223
Comments: 13
Kudos: 84
Collections: HP Kinktober 2020





	Cut Me Open (and use me)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Lizz and Han for the betas, any remaining mistakes are my own!
> 
> This fic/idea has been sitting in my drive since LAST Kinktober, and now it can finally see the light of day for HP Kinktober Day 12: Dueling, I'm so happy! My greatest inspiration was _The King (2019)_ directed by David Michôd, which was based on several plays from Shakespeare's "Henriad" (one or two of the lines in my fic are quotes from his plays). The score for that film is composed by Nicholas Britell and it's SO GOOD, you can listen to it on Spotify: [here](https://open.spotify.com/album/1JwpzZlvXcne1s9SNXhiEW?si=6YHTlXYgQFG_UWcMMCH_Nw)

“ _Where is he_?”

The angry voice rang through the castle, hoarse and rabid. The prince sat upon his throne, raising a pale eyebrow at his servants, who were frozen over their tasks. Chilled sunlight filtered through the palace windows. 

“ _Where is the monster?_ ”

The prince straightened his silver crown, brushing back his blond fringe, a servant adjusting his velvet green robes. He picked up his staff, topped with ornate jewels, and the metal serpent that was coiled around them flicked out its tongue.

“Should we stop him, your highness?” One of the royal guards asked nervously. 

The prince shook his head, grey eyes narrowing. The doors to the throne room flew open, and a man stormed in. His red and gold robes switched behind him, and he looked dangerous with his wild black hair, daring green eyes, and the scar shaped like a lightning bolt running jagged down his face, standing out starkly against his brown skin. The moment he saw the prince, he drew his longsword, courage and loathing mixed on his face, lips pulled into a half-smile, almost a grimace, but not quite. 

“There you are, you sly bastard.”

One of his advisors stepped forward, angrily, “You mustn’t speak to your highness that way!” But the prince waved his hand lazily.

“Just because your father is away, your highness—"

“Silence,” the prince snapped and then turned. “Sir Harry, what brings you into my sight this evening?”

“You know bloody well what brings me here,” Harry spat, “and it’s Sir Potter to you, scoundrel.”

The prince motioned to a servant, passing off his staff and robe. He stood and sauntered from his throne, reveling in Harry’s heavy breaths, the crazed look in the man’s eyes. Harry pointed his sword, but the prince simply moved around it. He smirked and bent down to Harry’s ear. “It’s your highness to you, Sir Potter, unless you’d rather call me Draco.”

Harry let out a shaky breath. “You are the devil.” 

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Draco murmured.

Harry moved back, brandishing his sword once more.

“I haven’t come to make small talk, your highness, but to challenge you to a duel.”

“And usurp my throne?” Draco laughed, haughty and cold. “I think not, Sir Potter.”

Harry’s gaze darkened. “I do not wish your throne, simply revenge.”

“Revenge for what? For being captivated by my good looks?” Draco brought himself up to his regal height, he had a solid few inches on the man before him, and he sneered down his nose. “I’m afraid I can’t duel every man, woman, or otherwise in Britain, simply for being attracted to me.”

“I’m not attracted to you,” Harry spat, positioning the tip of his sword unnervingly close to Draco’s pale throat. He saw nervous shuffles out of the corner of his eye, which only bolstered his enjoyment of the entire situation. 

“Really?” Draco asked, voice low. He brought a fingertip to the edge of the sword. Harry followed with wide eyes as Draco ran the pad of one finger down the sharp blade, deep red blood swelling at the cut. Draco watched with detached amusement as a single red drop fell to the floor, and then he met Harry’s gaze, licking the blood from his finger. An angry blush crept across Harry’s cheeks.

“That is a sharp sword, Sir Potter.”

“I—Er, it is.” Harry took a deep breath, obviously trying to control his frustration. “ And will you not duel me?”

Draco sighed. “If it will make you leave.”

“It will.”

Draco snapped his fingers at the nearest servant. “Fetch me my longsword.”

“Should I see to your wound, your highness?” an advisor asked.

“It’s merely a cut,” Draco sighed. “I’m not made of porcelain.” 

“Your highness—”

Draco rubbed his temple. “Everyone out.”

“Your highness—”

“I said everyone _out_ ,” Draco yelled. “Can two men not duel in peace?”

“It’s not exactly noble if no one else is here—” Harry began, but Draco cut him off with a frigid glare.

“All you want is revenge, isn’t it? You needn’t a gallery for _that_. You’ll know when you’re satisfied, I’m sure.”

A servant handed Draco his sword, and everyone slowly left the room, his attendant giving one last pointed look as he shut the doors.

Draco twirled his sword, a swinging movement that spoke of his dexterity and skill. Something he also knew made him look unbearably ravishing. 

“The head is heavy that wears the crown, sir Potter, for me to have to duel someone like you,” Draco mused, widening his stance and holding out his sword. “I imagine you have magical armour I cannot see?”

“Yes, and I imagine you the same.”

“Should we not do away with such trifles?” Draco asked, and while he held the hilt of his sword in one hand, with the other he waved, and an almost unnoticeable glamour fell from his body.

Harry’s face darkened, but he too waved a hand, dropping the invisible armour.

“Now that we are alone, we may talk like men,” Draco said. “I’m sorry you are so embarrassed to have slept with me.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Harry ground out, but Draco noticed his grip tighten, his calves tense through his criminally tight breeches. 

Draco shrugged; a prince knew when to let things rest. He admired Harry’s quiet, valued his unrelenting loathing. His father, the king, often told him that men of few words were the best of men. “Then let us duel, Harry.”

He nodded. “Draco.”

Their swords screamed across each other, the first clang of metal as they connected. Draco felt the thrill of it ring through his arms and ears as he danced backward, but Harry was already lunging towards him again. He parried with the flat edge of his sword and spun out of the way, leaving Harry stumbling forward.

They faced each other again, and their swords clashed once more. At first, the jabs were fast, the sound of metal on metal sharp and quick, and then their swings became more heartfelt, the scraping sounds grating throughout the throne room.

Their swords came up against each other, and they slid forward. Draco could feel Harry’s breath, hot and ragged, his body trembling through their swords. It sent fire coursing through Draco’s cold veins, a nearly palpable desire.

“Is this what you wanted?” Draco hissed, “for us to be dancing about like horrid ghosts?”

“I have told you; I want revenge, I want my honour,” Harry panted.

“If it be a sin to covet honour, you are the most offending soul alive.”

“So I’ve been told,” Harry said with a grim smile, and he released Draco with one swift upward arch. It sent their swords howling, and the edge of Harry’s sword grazed Draco’s cheek. His crown fell, and Harry caught it with his blade, twirling it around teasingly. 

Draco raised a hand to his face, and it came away blotted with red. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking slowly around his fingers, savouring the lingering taste of iron and salt.

“It be a sin to mar a face as beautiful as my own,” Draco simpered, and the crown that Harry had been toying with clattered to the floor, his face turning pink. As Harry kneeled awkwardly to pick up the crown, Draco moved forward, placing his sword under Harry’s chin, using the flat edge of the blade to tilt up his face. “And you are so beautiful; it would be a shame not to.”

Harry’s breath went ragged, blush travelling across his ears and down his neck. His sword clattered at his side, and he didn’t bother to pick it back up. Draco knew he had him almost precisely where he wanted him, and he knew this was never really about revenge. His eyes glinted with the same sparkling venom as his sword, and he tilted it slightly, letting the sharp edge trace the curve under Harry’s chin, the point swivelling ever so slightly closer to cutting Harry’s throat. It was never really about revenge; it was about wanting more. 

When Draco finally pricked Harry’s neck, a small bead of blood rising at his throat, Harry’s eyes went half-lidded, his lips parting.

Draco bent at the waist, forcing them to lock eyes lest the sword pierce Harry further. 

“You like the pain, don’t you?” Draco whispered, his voice running cool and low down the length of his sword. “You want me to hurt you, Sir Potter, and then you want me to heal you.” 

No, I—” Harry gulped, his adam's apple bobbing. It would be so easy for Draco to slide his sword across the man’s throat, to watch his blood run red across the throne room, for speaking out of turn, for treason, or perhaps, just because Draco felt like it. Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t want… anything..” 

Draco trailed the tip of his sword down Harry’s throat, coming to rest on his chest, directly above his heart. “Then what _do_ you want?”

“I hate you,” Harry growled, pushing Draco’s sword away and standing up, grabbing Draco’s wrists and pinning them to his side. Where Draco was skilled in sword handling, Harry made up for with physical strength. He leaned forward into Draco’s shoulder, breathing in deeply, teeth grazing the curve of Draco’s neck. “I hate what you do to me.” 

“Really now?” Draco murmured, a slight tremor creeping into his voice. 

“Really,” Harry said, voice turning rough with want, low and needy next to Draco’s ear. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? Merlin, Draco, I want you so badly I ache with it. When you point your sword at me, it drives me _mad_.”

Harry let go of Draco’s wrists but kept his face buried in Draco’s neck. Keeping a firm grip on his sword, Draco reached up and ran a hand through Harry’s curls, palm settling on the nape of his neck. The man was trembling. “I want to take you here, in the royal palace,” Draco hissed. He grabbed a fist of Harry’s curls and tilted the man’s head back, forcing him to meet Draco’s gaze. “I want to hear you beg me for relief as I ravage you, and I want to hear you scream my name into the velvet upholstering of my throne.” 

Harry scoffed. “I’d like to see you try.” 

Draco didn’t wait; he pulled Harry into a crushing kiss, chasing the friction of both their growing erections. Draco forced them backward, Harry colliding with the base of the throne, moaning into their kiss. 

“I love it when you fight us,” Draco whispered. 

“You disgust me,” Harry said, now blatantly smiling. “Kiss me again.” 

Draco didn’t need further convincing; he tilted Harry’s face towards him and slotted their lips together. It was perfect—a glorious pleasure before the inevitable pain—it reminded Draco of nights hidden in the shadows of the tavern, hood drawn up over his face, watching Harry step into the low light, the sharp edge of his jaw, the draw of his rugged aura. 

Breaking the kiss for breath, Draco stepped back, admiring Harry’s depravity. 

“Just say you want me to fuck you,” Draco growled, and perhaps Harry had dropped his guards during the kiss, or perhaps his mind was addled with lust, but he spoke before thinking. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry said in a rush. “Fuck me, hurt me, anything.”

Draco stepped back and ran his sword under the hem of Harry’s shirt. The man’s breath hitched, and in one fluid motion, Draco cut upwards, Harry’s shirt falling away to reveal his toned chest and abdomen.

“Take off the rest,” Draco commanded, vanishing his own pants. He stood, sword in hand, wearing nothing but his white shirt, which was untied at the collar, his blond hair now tousled from their duel. With Harry leaning against the throne, naked, his cock jutting forward out of a bush of dark, wiry hair, the head flushed, a bead of precum already welling at the tip. 

Draco waved his hand, and his longsword began to shorten, handle morphing until he was holding an ornate dagger. 

“On the throne,” Draco commanded. “Facing the back.” 

Harry complied, kneeling on the throne, gripping the backrest for support, his toned back and arse on full display. 

“Lovely,” Draco murmured, squeezing one of Harry’s arse cheeks. He knelt in front of the throne and pulled Harry’s cheeks apart. Harry gasped as Draco leaned forward, swiping his tongue around the whorl of Harry’s arsehole, gently teasing him. It sent desire rushing straight to Draco’s cock, to have his face buried in a man’s arse in the royal throne room, a man who was significantly below Draco’s status. 

“Draco,” Harry moaned as he pushed his tongue in, licking and sucking at Harry’s arse, making the man pant from his position on the throne, his legs beginning to quiver. Draco pulled back and grabbed Harry’s hips, turning the man around with very little grace, rough handling him to the point that his nails left harsh half-circles, so that Harry was now on his back, facing Draco.

Harry looked edible, sitting on the throne, beautiful legs wide, cock resting against his chest. Draco wanted all of him. He stepped in between Harry’s legs, pushing two fingers into Harry’s mouth. Harry sucked them in, eager to please. Draco pushed them farther, feeling the back of Harry’s throat, sliding farther down. Draco held back a groan as Harry swiped his tongue between Draco’s fingers, and Draco pulled his hand away with a wet pop, spit dribbling down Harry’s chin. Draco ran his fingers down Harry’s chest, a streak of wet, skirting around Harry’s cock and coming to rest them at his hole. 

Draco reached up with his dagger, gently placing the point against Harry’s side. “I love to look into your eyes when I hurt you,” Draco groaned, as he shoved two fingers into Harry’s arse without lube, and dragged his dagger downwards, running a shallow cut down Harry’s torso. The moan of pain went straight to Draco’s cock, Harry grunting and biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“You’re delectable,” Draco moaned, pulling his fingers nearly all the way out, then slowly pushing them back in, pushing past the resistance. Harry gripped the armrests of the throne, whimpering. “Alright?” He asked, and Harry nodded, eyes screwed shut. 

Draco pulled out his fingers and conjured some lube. This time, Harry’s arse accepted his two fingers easily, and he crooked them, beginning to drive in and out in earnest. 

“Why are you holding yourself back,” Draco asked, as Harry panted, still biting down on his lip, trying to keep his wanton moans from escaping. “I love it when you’re loud for me,” Draco simpered, tracing the tip of his dagger around Harry’s nipples. 

Draco added a third finger, and Harry moaned loudly as Draco hit his prostate. Draco pressed his dagger’s flat blade against Harry’s throat, hard enough that the man struggled slightly for breath. “God, you’re gorgeous,” Draco said. “I want to cover you in blood and then fuck you so hard you can’t remember anything but my name.” 

“Please,” Harry croaked. “I need you inside me.” 

Draco pulled out his fingers, his desire overflowing, he quickly lined up his cock and slathered it with more lube. He danced the tip of his dagger over Harry’s chest, and then as he pressed the end of his cock into Harry’s arse, cut in a downwards motion, deeper this time, blood pooling on Harry’s torso, dripping down his sides. 

“Fuck, Draco!” Harry yelled as Draco pushed all the way in, bottoming out. He reached up with his free hand and ran it down the cut, pressing his palm against the flayed skin, smearing blood down Harry’s abdomen and over his thigh, a visible track of his lust, caught red-handed against Harry’s sweat sheened skin. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, Harry,” Draco panted. “You take me so well.” 

“It hurts,” Harry whimpered. “Fuck Draco, it hurts so much.” 

Harry’s erection and softened with the pain, and Draco put the dagger down on the edge of the throne, splaying his palms against Harry’s gash. 

“What are the magic words?” Draco smirked, feeling for the magic at his core, golden and holy. 

“Please, your highness,” Harry groaned. “Heal me so you can use me again.” 

“My pleasure,” Draco said, and then his hands were glowing, a golden light that spread across Harry’s body, knitting his skin back together, healing him with the divine power of God. When the castle’s priest had anointed Draco with the royal family’s powers, he’d probably not expected Draco to use his new skills like this. 

Harry arched into Draco’s touch, spine curving, his cock hardening as the pain flooded from his body, mistaking it for the highest form of pleasure. The sounds that were coming out of Harry in bursts were so dirty that Draco couldn’t hold himself back; he grabbed Harry’s legs and pulled out until the tip of his cock was just kissing Harry’s arse… and then snapped forward, pounding in and out of Harry’s arse with fervour. 

Harry wrapped one hand around his cock, pulling at himself with sporadic jerks, panting and groaning as Draco continued his brutal pace. 

“Fuck, I’m close—” Harry moaned. Draco grabbed for his dagger. 

“Cum for me, Harry,” Draco said, his own orgasm lurking, built up in his tensed muscles. 

“Hnng, fuck,” Harry said, and as he shot his load all over his belly, Draco ran his dagger down the side of Harry’s thigh, blood pooling over his fingers. 

“You feel so good, Harry, clenching your arse around my cock so tightly,” Draco groaned, his dagger clattering to the ground. He ran a hand through the blood dripping down Harry’s leg and then brought his hand up to Harry’s throat, gripping tightly as he slammed forward, his orgasm rushing forward as he shot his load into Harry’s arse, bending over, blood and semen mixing between their chests. Draco grunted, the last of his orgasm flowing through him. 

Draco stood panting for a moment and then pulled out his cock, waving a hand and cleaning himself up. He left the blood and cum on Harry’s chest, running a finger through it and bringing it to Harry’s mouth. 

“Take this,” Draco commanded. “Give me the last shed of honour you have.” 

Harry didn’t hesitate; he lapped up his own cum and blood from Draco’s fingers, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Good,” Draco whispered, waving his hand and cleaning up all the mess. He pressed his hand to Harry’s thigh and sent warmth radiating out of his palm, the cut closing, not even leaving behind a scar. 

Harry pushed himself up on the throne, arms shaking with exhaustion. 

“You look spotless,” Draco hummed. “That won’t do.” He reached down for his dagger, tickling Harry’s sides with the cool metal. “You can always erase it with magic if you decide,” Draco said, before pressing down. Harry hissed, sucking in a breath, but made no move to stop him, so Draco carved his lust and ownership into Harry’s skin, pricks of blood coming to the surface. Two letters: _D. M._  
  



End file.
